


rule of three

by havisham



Series: occult bullshit series [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 1918 Influenza Pandemic, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Mutual Pining, Occult, Semi-Public Sex, Sequel, Sex Pollen, Sibling Incest, Time Loop, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24097528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Gage Westin, a college student, is trapped inside by war and illness that rage outside his island home. He discovers a long-hidden secret that could change everything -- if he's willing to risk everything.
Relationships: Bully Older Brother/Bookworm Younger Brother/Younger Brother's Male Best Friend, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: occult bullshit series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738585
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	1. called the devil partner

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel/prequel to [you fool, it's only moonlight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20469662). It can stand on its own, however, I would say reading that first would help with everything else. 
> 
> **Content advisory:** Period typical attitudes towards sexism, homophobia & classism, pandemics/breaking quarantine, consensual incestuous relationships, non-consensual voyeurism, murder, death, occult bullshit. The cat is unharmed. 
> 
> Thank you, Nonnel for an absolutely stellar beta job. All remaining mistakes, etc.

The ghost was moving restlessly through the halls, making more noise than could be excused by the house settling, even as old a house as this. Gage liked these kind of nights -- the noise would cut through the loneliness that had been his constant companion since he had come home that summer. It was October now and there was a chill in the air. Winter was coming early this year.

Winters always went badly for Gage, who had been born sickly and ill. The doctor had told his mother that he wouldn’t likely last to see his christening. At such news, Gage supposed it was natural that parental affection should be withdrawn from him, if it had been available at all. Why love something that wouldn’t thrive? 

But the doctor was wrong. Gage did see his christening, though his parents never did warm up to him. He was left to the care of a succession of nursemaids and nannies, until at the tender age of five, he was presented to his elder brother, Miles, who had returned from boarding school in England -- it had not been a success, for Miles was a bad, naughty child. 

“This is him?” Miles had said, taking Gage’s hand roughly and squeezing it. Gage had stared at him stonily. He wouldn’t cry out, even if it hurt. “When I saw you last, you were nothing but a little grub of a baby. Not much has changed, has it?” 

Gage had pulled his hand away and headbutted his brother. Miles had laughed when he was bowled over. After that, they were inseparable. 

As for how Miles was now — Gage didn’t know, hadn’t known for years. In a fit of anger at being left out, Miles had gone over the border and joined up. He would send letters, occasionally, teasing little notes, really, that said nothing of what he had seen or done. When the United States joined the war, he’d been transferred to an American unit. He’d complained that he missed his Canadian boys, sent clippings of the explosion in Halifax last year, bragging that he’d known the sailor who had his head blown off. But then he had stopped writing, until this last letter, delivered to Gage that afternoon. 

Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed shut. 

In truth, Gage did not mind the isolation very much. He had always been a rather solitary creature at the best of times, and he thought he could use this time to actually look through the house and find the cache of books and letters that his disreputable Great-Uncle Nathaniel had told him about, long ago. An ancestor of theirs had once been a disciple of the notorious warlock, Jacques Roulet, whose house in Providence was still such a place of horror… 

Nathaniel Westin was a drunkard and a liar, but the hunt for the papers made Gage’s long days more exciting. 

He was half-asleep when the noises stopped. The oil-lamp was still burning, dangerously low. Gage turned over, crushing Miles’ letter under his body. His glasses had slipped off his face at some point and so the whole world was just a soft blur. He felt a cool hand on his face, an almost delicate caress. 

_Miles._ He opened his eyes, expecting his brother to be standing over him. But instead, he saw a boy he had never seen before. Slim and brown-skinned, with black hair. A nose like a knife’s edge, and dark-eyed. He was looking at Gage with the queerest look in his eyes -- despair mixed with anger and a strange sort of tenderness. 

“Who are you?” Gage tried to say, but his mouth wouldn’t open to speak. He tried to reach out to the figure, but he couldn’t move. His body seemed like it was bolted down. The ghost retreated, and as soon as he was gone, Gage sat up in bed, his heart racing. 

The ghost had been a persistent rumor in his family but no one living had ever seen him. There were old stories of skullduggery and ancient native gravesites, but Gage had never expected any of it to have a grain of truth to it. But the boy he’d seen had had dark skin and worn strange clothes -- no, Gage frowned. The clothes hadn’t belonged to some dead Indian brave. But he hadn’t seen it clearly…

Eventually, he fell asleep. 

“I might be getting a little cracked,” Gage said to himself, when he woke up the next morning. Outside, the birds were singing. It was a glorious fall morning, with the fog burning away in the bright autumn sunlight. Looking out from his balcony, Gage could see the trees, turning red and orange, and then, not so far from here, the steady blue line of the ocean. 

That ocean separated him from Miles. Gage found the letter and reexamined the contents. Miles was still an incurably cheerful letter-writer, even as he complained of how long the army quarantine required him to wait before he could return home. 

_… I hope to find you a little taller and more grown up than when I saw you last. What a cry-baby you were, as if I couldn’t stay alive without you! I’m sure you’re more somber now, as befitting a college man such as yourself._

_When the quarantine lifts, I’ll come back to you — make up for missing all those years. Don’t do anything foolish before then. I know how you are and you know how I am. We’ll see each other again._

“Sentimental,” Gage said with a snort. But even as he said it, he wanted nothing more than to see Miles again — and show him everything he had learned so far. He did not take Miles’ warning not to do anything foolish to heart -- after all, Gage had spent his entire life on borrowed time. What could be more foolish than doing nothing at all? 

After a breakfast of coffee and biscuits, Gage tried to do some work. He regretted that he wouldn’t be able to take Professor McNally’s class on spiritualism and occult beliefs now, but at least he had an opportunity to perhaps make a discovery of his own. 

A strong wind from the ocean came up and blew through the house, snatching papers from Gage’s hand. He sighed and went to look for which window was open. After he had found it and closed it -- with no memory of having opened it -- he resumed his search. 

Great-Uncle Nathaniel had been certain that their ancestor, Ambrosius Westin, had hidden his books and papers somewhere in the house. Ambrosius had been known as a brilliant but unscrupulous man whose prayers were never uttered at the proper time or to the right object. He’d built this house himself, far from anyone who would accuse him of strange crimes. Then he had suddenly disappeared, leaving the house to his more conventional relation -- Gage’s ancestor, and Ambrosius’ brother. 

He was the reason Gage had chosen to attend university in Providence. The cursed house that had once belonged to Jacques Roulet still stood there, a grim block of clapboard and broken windows like blinded eyes. He’d heard that the family that owned it now was seeking to sell it -- with little success.

Gage had broken into the house but it had revealed nothing out of the ordinary. He had wanted to venture into the oldest part of the house — the earthen basement — but his progress had been halted by the sound of a policeman’s whistle. Some neighbors had seen the light of Gage’s flashlight and contacted the authorities. Gage had barely managed to extract himself from the house in time, and by the time he was ready to try again, the influenza had already started ravaging the city and Gage had been recalled back to the island.

He’d already looked through all the books in the library and knocked on the back of all the bookshelves, looking for some false back. Finding nothing, he moved on to the wainscoting and floorboards. He made a methodical sweep of the first floor and found old letters, coins, bits of broken crockery -- but not what he was looking for. 

Though he dreaded it, today he went into the cellar to search. He doubted that anything would be hidden there — at least, not something as fragile as paper or books. The cellar was packed with dirt and smelled of old earth and secrets too foul to know. He found nothing. 

Going through the house, Gage was conscious of another presence, always hovering over his shoulder. In the parlor, the piano keys clinked by themselves. In the kitchen, the stove blew itself out with a clank, belching smoke into the room. As he mounted the steps upstairs, the crystals of the chandelier clicked together gently, sounding like disappointed gossip. 

Now that he had shown himself, the ghost made his presence known everywhere. 

But when Gage tried asking him questions -- knocking on the walls to demonstrate how to answer -- the ghost remained stubbornly silent. Instead, Gage had to get on with the constant feeling of observation. 

He didn’t mind it as much as he should have. At least he wasn’t alone. 

*

The day ended with no discovery. Gage retired for the night to Miles’ room instead of his own -- it was larger than his own, and more luxurious. It should, by right, had belonged to their parents, but Miles had asserted himself when he was quite young and claimed it. The large window looked out to the sea. The glass was thick and wavy -- it must have been absurdly expensive when it had been put in. 

Gage pressed a hand on the glass and noticed that there was a flaw in it -- or rather an air bubble, which, in the light of the setting sun, threw a little shadow across the room and on to an old portrait of Lillian Westin -- Ambrosius’ mother.

It would be too absurd -- Gage tried to tamp down on his growing excitement, but once he carefully removed the painting from the wall, he saw a bare patch of wall under it. He pressed his ear against the wall and tapped against it, expecting a hollow sound. 

Instead, something within the walls tapped back. 

Gage pulled back in shock. His heart was thumping in his chest. It was happening. It was real. He wasn’t crazy and he wasn’t imagining things. 

Whatever else happened now, he would be equal to it. He wouldn’t doubt himself. His instincts were good. He had made it this far, hadn’t he? 

He realized, more strongly than before, that he was on a strange precipice. If he moved forward, his entire life would change. Would he ever have an ordinary life again? It was doubtful. 

But he had never wanted an ordinary life. 

Only a thin layer of plaster covered the secret cabinet in the walls. Gage broke through with a hammer and once the dust settled, he peered into the hole in the wall. There was a wooden box, heavily padlocked. But when Gage touched the lock, it came off in his hands — time and age had eaten away at it.

Inside the box was a sheaf of papers and a silver dagger, long tarnished. Under these things was a thin, leather bound book. Carefully, Gage opened it to the first page. It was the grimoire of Jacques Roulet.

Gage flipped through the pages with a growing sense of excitement. There were spells of every kind in the book. Spells for love, spells for power, spells for knowledge. A spell to bring someone to you. A spell to speak to the dead. And at the end of the book, there was a spell for eternal life and youth. 

Those pages were scorched with fire and some were stuck together with brown splotches. Perhaps that was suspicious -- and a cause for dread -- but Gage already knew that nothing in the world would stop him from casting that spell. 

*

The first spell he tried was the summoning spell. He had to clean the knife before he could try anything with it — it seemed to figure prominently in every spell. 

The cat came in just as he had gotten the cleaning solution to boil and dropped a piece of zinc into it. She eyed him speculatively. Hildegard, a small calico, did not strictly belong to the house. She was petted and fussed over at the neighboring Mitchell house, but they were a good distance away. She mewed for food and Gage remembered that he hadn’t eaten for ages.

He opened a can of mackerel and shared it with her. “Haven’t any milk for you,” he muttered as she snuggled up to him. When he tried to pet her, she hissed softly, her green eyes fixed on the silver dagger in Gage’s hand. 

After it had been cleaned and polished, it shone bright and terrible in his hand. There were occult symbols carved on the handle and blade, things that Gage couldn’t quite decipher. From the loose notes he’d gathered -- all written by Ambrosius -- Jacques Roulet said that all magic required a sacrifice. The more complicated the spell, the more blood needed to be spilled. 

Gage weighed the knife in his hand thoughtfully. He didn’t think of himself as a necessarily cruel or unkind sort of person; however, he did not doubt that if push came to shove, he would take the steps necessary to do what he needed to do. 

Miles always teased him, saying that he was cold-blooded. Perhaps that was true, but it wasn’t that Gage was incapable of love. He thought, in fact, it was the opposite. He felt more than other people. That was why he could come to decisions so quickly -- he had his priorities in order. 

The summoning spell required the knife and a mirror, as well as three drops of blood dripped into a bowl of water. Hildegard followed him upstairs, her sinuous form weaving around his legs as he tried to get up the stairs. 

“Hildegard, if you keep doing this, I won’t let you be my familiar,” Gage warned her. She meowed plaintively as he soon reached the top of the stairs. The floor length mirror in Miles’ room was the best choice for his work -- it was old, with a dark wooden frame and silver backing for the mirror. 

Gage lit a candle in front of the mirror. He read out the incantation and nicked his palm, squeezing three drops of blood out into the water. They fell to the bottom of the bowl, stubbornly compact for a time, before they dissipated. 

He concentrated on the form of the person he wished to summon. Miles. Miles, who always teased him about his interests. Miles, who was merciless to anyone who dared to hurt him. Miles who, for all Gage knew, could be dead or dying from this illness that seemed to delight in killing the young and healthy. 

He concentrated all of his will and thought. He would call Miles to his side. He would bend the laws of time and space until they obeyed him. He said the words. He concentrated. 

Nothing happened. The room stayed as it was, dimly lit and drafty. When Gage looked into the mirror, he saw only himself looking back -- tired and pale, with dark bags under his eyes. Had he read it wrong? Had he made a mistake? 

Maybe he was too late. Maybe Miles was already dead, and gone beyond all summoning. 

If so, Gage reasoned, he would try a different spell. He would raise the dead… 

The candles went out suddenly. There was a leak somewhere, and so that wasn’t surprising. Gage felt through his pockets for a box of matches and found it. When he struck the match, the flames flared bright and hot, singeing his fingertips. As he lit the candle, he saw a movement in the mirror. 

He looked up to see a tall shadow bending over him, a terribly thin hand on his shoulder. There was no time to cry out or run away. Gage was still, barely breathing. Slowly, the shadow took the form of a person. 

It was Miles.

“Don’t turn around,” Miles said. He looked terrible, as if he had been dragged through the mud. His hair, usually fair, was ragged and long. His face had a sickly blueish cast to it and he was thin, his eyes dark and huge. The front of his uniform was splattered with blood. He looked like he was dying -- or like he already had. 

“You’re not going to die,” Gage said, his voice stronger and more confident than he felt. “Get better and come back to me, Miles.” 

“Stupid boy,” said Miles. “I told you not to do anything foolish.” 

“Come back,” Gage said and turned his head. There was nothing there except darkness. But the darkness moved toward him and swallowed him up. 

*

Gage was dreaming, but he could feel his body being dragged across the floor and then lifted and tossed into Miles’ bed. He opened his eyes and saw the ghost looking at him. He wondered if the ghost could ever look anything but sad, before he turned and pulled the blanket over his head. 

*

When Gage woke up, he saw a masked figure at the end of his bed. He started to get up, but Miles held up his hands. “There’s baskets of food rotting outside the front door. All the neighbors think you’re dead -- that’s why they let me through.” He dropped his voice. “I don’t know what they expect me to do. Burn the house with you inside?” 

“How long has it been?” Gage whispered. His voice was raspy with disuse. 

“Since I left Camp Devens? A week. Since you took to bed? God only knows.” 

“I’m not sick. I thought you were,” Gage said. He didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but he did. Miles grinned. 

“I had a miraculous recovery. All the boys who came back from France with me died. Technically, I’m AWOL, but I don’t think they’ll come look for me -- at least, not yet.” 

“I don’t care about that,” Gage said, pushing the blankets aside. He motioned for Miles to come closer, but his brother stepped back. “Please. It’s been so long since I’ve touched anyone. I’ve forgotten what it’s like.” 

He thought Miles would tease him for being needy and foolish. Weak. An embarrassment to their old and venerable name. Instead, his brother sighed and took off his mask and then his hat, grimacing at his own filth. 

But when he slipped into bed, Gage wasn’t thinking of dirt, or lice or disease. Instead, he felt only pure and simple relief that he was so close to another human body, after so long alone -- or almost alone. 

*

Almost against his will but with Miles’ strong encouragement, Gage ate and regained his strength. They boiled the sheets they had slept in the night of Miles’ return, and worked to get the house ready for the winter, which was swift and bitter on the island. John Mitchell, their closest neighbor, came to see them and they talked to him from the porch, with him still astride a horse.

“They do say the war’ll be over any day now,” he said, eying Miles cynically. “I, for one, am glad you got out so quick, Westin.”

“Quick? I’ve been gone three years,” Miles said with a smile that only Gage knew was unfriendly. 

John Mitchell had been just old enough to avoid the draft. He was a bluff, handsome man with a shock of black hair and shrewd, green eyes. His small farm had grown larger during the war -- he was the picture of prosperity. He shrugged. “You came back when many didn’t. What’s your parents doing now, boys?”

“They’re still in Boston,” Gage said. He’d been listening in from the corner of the house, but now he emerged with a board he’d cut to reinforce one of the storm windows. He leaned it against the wall and stretched out, shivering in the wind. “I doubt they’ll be able to come here until the spring at least.”

“It’s better to stay there,” Mitchell said. “If you know what I mean. I love the island but the isolation can drive the most steady man to — rash acts.”

“You don’t have to worry about us, Mitch. You’re a married man now, you should look out for things there,” Miles said lightly. Gage cleared his throat. Mitchell took his leave after that, promising them that he’d bring over some of his wife’s apple preserves soon.

Once he’d gone, Gage turned to Miles, exasperated. “Mitchell’s our closest neighbor. You can’t antagonize him like that.”

“He treats us like outsiders, as if our ancestors haven’t been here since long before his ever came,” Miles said with an arrogant sniff. “So what if the older generation moved away?” 

“Look. Boston might as well be the island right now. Everyone’s got to stay away,” Gage said with a shrug. “He’s right about the isolation.”

“Of course,” Miles said, his blue eyes alight. “I saw what state you were in when I came back. Half-way to starving to death without noticing. Talking to ghosts. A bad way, Gage.”

Gage avoided his gaze. He hadn’t told Miles about finding the grimoire or the spell he’d done to summon him back. Miles had always found Gage’s interest in the occult to be absurd. As a response, Gage had always presented it as a general interest in the history of their family. Great-Uncle Nathaniel had told Miles the stories about Ambrosius too, but Miles had only laughed at them.

“Ambrosius probably owed debts to everyone and ran away from Providence and then the island too. As for that business with Roulet — it was the bad old days. Maybe Roulet found him in bed with his wife -- or maybe his wife found the two of them together. No witchcraft necessary.”

But Gage knew that he had to tell Miles about what he’d found, sooner or later. Because — Gage had plans to try another spell. The final spell for eternal youth and life. And he was determined to bring Miles along with him.

The problem was that the spell — along with several others in the back of the book — wasn’t written in Latin like the rest. It was written in a cipher. Gage was certain the key to it was on the silver dagger.

He’d hidden the book, papers and dagger in his room as soon as Miles had returned, but in the moments he was alone, he would go back to them, trying to puzzle out the procedure for the final spell. He also practiced small spells — a spell to bring something to you, and then one to take something away. They had worked — when a heavy salt cellar dropped onto his bed, Gage couldn’t help but let loose a whoop of delight.

Miles was calling for him to come for supper. Gage carefully hid his book and dagger, and, after a second of hesitation, the salt cellar too. 

He observed Miles’ annoyance at the missing salt with a hidden smile. When his brother turned on him, asking him if he knew how the salt had gone missing, Gage could say with innocent certainty that he didn’t. 

“Sometimes it feels like this house is cursed,” Miles said during dinner, after a long moment railing against their lack of salt. Gage cut into his chicken and tried to look interested.

“Sometimes?” Gage said. “It’s supposed to be haunted.”

“I know that. Did you know the ghost has a name?”

Gage’s knife skidded across the plate. He looked up, appalled. “What do you mean?”

Miles was looking at him, a serious expression on his face. “His name is Sid, he told me.”

“The ghost doesn’t speak,” Gage said with gritted teeth. Miles raised his brow. Gage swallowed his outrage and said, neutrally, “I see. You’re making a joke.” 

“Why would I waste that effort on you? You don’t understand jokes, Gage.” 

“And you don’t believe in ghosts,” Gage replied. “Or the supernatural.”

“Exactly, because I’m not a stupid rube who thinks their dead fiance can manifest through a spit-sodden piece of muslin,” Miles said calmly, taking a sip of wine. “But I don’t like to deny the evidence of my own eyes and ears.”

“Did you ever --” Gage leaned forward. “When Marie died -- did you ever go to a seance and see anything?” 

“Why would I?” Miles said. “The dead stay dead.” 

“I don’t know. I was curious -- you’re the one who’s talking to ghosts now,” Gage said sullenly. He didn’t meet his brother’s eyes. He knew that Marie was a sore spot for his brother -- Miles had almost married her before she drowned. Though Miles had been typically cavalier about the whole thing, Gage knew his brother had been bothered by Marie’s untimely demise. She had been so beautiful, she had loved him so much, and she had been so very rich. 

“Don’t be stupid. Our ghost isn’t Marie. It’s a man,” Miles said acidly. “I only spoke to him because I thought -- I don’t know, he could have been an odd college friend of yours. Have you made some yet?” 

Gage shook his head. 

Miles continued on, “Anyway. He was lurking outside the door when I came back. You were sleeping. He asked me how you were and I told him. Then I asked his name. He was very polite until he disappeared.” 

“That sounds very unlikely,” Gage muttered, rising from his seat. He cleared his plate into the slop bucket and washed it, ignoring how Miles’ eyes dug into his back.

Miles pushed back his chair and went to the sink. Confidentially, he said, “That boy was a foreigner if I’ve ever seen one. Spoke English pretty well though. And he knew all about you. What _have_ you been doing here when everyone’s gone, Gage?” 

“I don’t have anything to do with him,” Gage said angrily. “Don’t make accusations.” 

“Who accused you of anything?” Miles said mildly. Maddeningly. “I was only curious.” 

“Well, there’s nothing to be curious about,” Gage said. He turned and said, “You don’t know that he was a ghost in the first place. He could’ve -- he could’ve broken in.” 

“He disappeared before my eyes. Textbook ghostly behavior, I’d say,” Miles said with a disingenuous smile. 

Gage glared at him and left the kitchen, stomping on the stairs as he went up. 

*

On the island, the darkness was complete. It was easy to forget that, when living in the city, where thousands of other people’s thoughts and breaths were so close. Gage sat at his window and looked out to the black bulk of the forest and the deep navy of the sky. 

At his shoulder, Gage saw the reflection of Miles creeping into his room. Gage turned to him and said, “You don’t need to skulk around. Come inside like a civilized person.” 

Miles gave him a wry smile. “Aren’t you tired of talking to me?” 

“Of course I am,” Gage said as Miles came and sat next to him. He leaned against Miles’ shoulder and sighed. “But you’re the only one I ever want to talk to.” 

Miles ruffled his hair and muttered, “I think we have to find you some friends here. Any friends at all.” 

“You and the ghost should count as two.” 

“Good Lord, Gage. I worry about you.” 

He let Miles stroke his hair and said nothing. His brother didn’t know how much there was to be worried over. 

*

Gage woke up to a hand on his throat. 

Beside him, Miles stirred in his sleep and turned over. They’d started sharing Miles’ bed after he’d returned -- it seemed more sensible to stay together, and frankly, it was less lonely and cold. But now he felt utterly alone, with the ghost -- Sid -- pressing a cold hand on him. A hand he could feel. Gage’s eyes were wide open. He knew he was awake. 

But then the pressure eased and Sid began to fade away. 

“Wait,” Gage croaked out. “Why don’t you talk to me? I know you can.” 

There was a long silence. Gage felt heat building in the back of his neck. Sid’s eyes were so dark that they looked like parts of the void. He blinked and licked his lips. Gage stared at him, a slow realization creeping over him. 

“Are you really a ghost?” he asked Sid. He knew he sounded mad, but something prompted him to ask. It stood to reason -- a ghost couldn’t touch. But he had touched Sid and Sid had touched him. 

For the first time, Sid smiled. It was a grim sort of smile, more like a grimace than anything else. 

“You should know better than me,” Sid said. He sounded American, Gage realized. But his clothes -- his whole demeanor -- felt strangely foreign. 

“Pardon the question, but are you from California?” Gage asked eagerly. It was the most exotic place he could think of that was still American. He’d always wanted to go there. “Wait -- what do you mean, I should know?” 

“Come on, Gage. You’re messing with things you don’t understand -- that has consequences.” 

“If you’re supposed to be my guardian angel, I have to say, you’re doing a pisspoor job of saving me. What with that attempt at smothering me just now.” 

Sid shook his head. “I should be trying to stop you. I just --” He clenched his hands together. “It’s hard to manifest. I can only do it sometimes and I can’t control _when_ I do it. I’ve seen you and Miles and people I don’t know. It’s not a straight line.”

“Why did you speak to Miles before you talked to me?” Gage said, annoyed. 

At that mention of his name, Miles woke up and yawned. “Are you talking to yourself?”

“No,” Gage said, turning to look at Sid. But Sid was no longer there. 

He lay back down and turned to Miles. Intensely, he said, “Miles, do you think that it’s possible to see a ghost from the future?”

Miles shoved a pillow at his face. “Go to sleep, Gage.”

“I can’t,” Gage muttered. He sat up again. “Are you asleep?”

Miles groaned, loud and theatrically. “What is it now?”

Gage got up from bed and went to his own room. From his wardrobe, he took out the box where he’d been keeping the grimoire and dagger. Nervously, he walked into Miles’ room with the box. Miles had lit a lamp and was waiting for him, curious at what Gage was up to.

“I _have_ been up to something,” Gage confessed, ducking his head. Miles snorted sharply but said nothing. 

Gage put the box in front of him and waited, sitting down beside him. 

Miles took up the dagger first and examined it. He traced the curve of the blade with his finger, pressing it so deeply that Gage thought he would cut himself. 

“Idiot,” Gage said impatiently, taking the dagger from him as swiftly as he dared. “Read the book.” 

Miles pretended not to hear him, reaching into the box to look at the scraps of paper that Gage had gone through. At Gage’s growing annoyance, he took up the book last of all, flipping through the pages nonchalantly. 

“Don’t you have any questions? Any at all? I found it in your room. In the wall, behind Lillian Westin’s portrait.” 

Miles glanced over at it. He still looked indifferent. 

“Say something,” Gage said. “I found a two hundred-year-old spellbook -- it belonged to Ambrosius Westin. The least you can say is congratulations.” 

“Have you tried any of these spells yet?” Miles had opened the book to a page and looked up at Gage. His eyes were so bright that they seemed to burn. 

“... No.” The lie fell oddly from his lips. Miles looked at him and frowned. Gage amended himself. “... Maybe one.” 

“You know, when I was sweating out a fever in Camp Devens, I had the strangest dream,” Miles said slowly. “I dreamed about you -- here. That’s why I didn’t bother stopping over in Boston, you know. It felt like I’d been summoned somehow. I couldn’t refused it. It was you, Gage.” 

He gave the knife back to Gage, who stowed it carefully back in the box. 

“I did it,” Gage said. “I wanted to know if it would work for me. And it did — I saw you, as clearly as if you were standing here.”

“Then you were ill,” Miles said. “You were alone. You could have died.”

“We could all die at any moment,” Gage said. “Anyway, it did work. Here.” He held out his hand for the book, but Miles didn’t give it back. 

“Then let me try one,” Miles said. He began to read one aloud, ignoring Gage’s protests. Gage tried to snatch it back, climbing on top of him. Miles pushed Gage away, putting his hand on Gage’s face. 

After the first spell, Gage had gone through lengthy preparations for everything else. It seemed foolish not to, for magic that really worked. But it was so typical of Miles not to bother with such niceties. 

“Stop it!” Gage shouted. “You need to prepare!” 

He realized with a start that Miles was reciting one of the many love spells in the book. Miles’ Latin was rougher than Gage’s — he’d stopped his lessons when he was fifteen, declaring it useless. But he went through it quickly, finishing it before Gage could snatch the book away.

“You idiot, how could you?” Gage hissed, horrified. His heart was beating wildly and he felt hot. He was essentially straddling his brother. Miles glared at him, even as he put out a hand to hold Gage’s hip, steadying him. 

“You’re the only one who can cast a spell?” Miles sneered. “Doesn’t seem so hard to me.”

“You don’t understand,” Gage said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Every spell takes a toll, proportional to what you’re asking for. What spell did you use?”

“Something to reveal hidden love,” Miles said. “I think —” His eyes widened and suddenly he shoved Gage away. “Gage. Go to sleep in your room. Take the blankets if you need them.”

“What are you doing?” Gage said, as he sprawled on the bed. His skin felt as if it was on fire. He sat up again and began to unbutton his pajama top. He felt hot and uncomfortable. The discomfort could be explained easily enough, but the heat… It wasn’t hot here — Gage could see his breath misting in the air.

Miles was watching him with wild eyes. “You know what’s happening. Get out of here.”

Gage began to tug off his bottoms, leaving them tight against his thighs. “I’m not clear. Tell me.”

“It’s — I’m —” Miles seemed like he was in pain, almost. “I want to touch you.” 

Gage nodded eagerly. “Your spell is working. I want to see what it does.” He reached out to Miles, who pushed his hand away.

“You’re seeing what it’s doing,” Miles said. His face was flushed and he seemed to be short of breath. Gage touched his face, and this time he wasn’t rebuffed. Miles leaned into his touch, before he remembered himself again. They were so close that Gage could see the hazel dots in Miles’ eyes. 

“Stop,” Miles said, gasping. He was sweating and Gage thought this was the first time he had ever seen his brother look visibly discomfited. He didn’t mind it. Gage pressed his face against Miles’ neck, felt the throb of his blood. Miles was touching him, running his hands down Gage’s back.

“You’re my little brother, I can’t do this,” Miles spoke through gritted teeth. “I can’t do that to you.”

“You’re a coward,” Gage said. “Why did you recite the spell if you can’t see it to the end?”

“If a spell compelled you to kill someone, would you do it? Just to satisfy your curiosity?” Miles asked. Gage reached under the waistband of his brother’s pajamas, not dropping his eye contact with him.

“These are much less dire circumstances than outright murder, Miles. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought of it.”

Miles snorted loudly. “Apparently you have.” He hissed between his teeth as Gage began to jerk him off.

Gage fluttered his eyelashes. “Of course. You’re my guide in all things. Including this.”

His brother gave him a narrow look. “Could always feel that you were watching.” 

Gage chuckled and said in a low voice, “Didn’t stop you.”

“How could I stop you from being a little pervert?” Miles smirked for a moment before schooling his expression into something more somber. That didn’t last. He was squirming in his seat, his cock hardening in Gage’s hand.

Miles sighed. “You’re going to regret this.”

“What do you think the sacrifice is?” Gage asked him. “Seems clear to me.”

It was easy to see now that behind the bravado, Miles always worked from a place of fear. When Gage kissed him -- gently, as if Miles might bolt at any moment -- after another moment of resistance, Miles kissed him back, a sweet and lingering kiss. 

He had seen the way Miles kissed other people -- Marie, and in darkened places, other boys who would come over for the summer. He was quite adept. Gage had never indulged himself to that degree. But it didn’t hurt to watch. To learn what to do. 

Miles’ fingers dug desperately into Gage’s skin. When Gage finally pulled away, Miles said, weakly, “Gage. Think about what you’re doing…” 

“If you don’t want to,” Gage said, withdrawing his hand. Miles looked vaguely upset that his cock was no longer being touched. Grimly, Gage continued, “I won’t force you.” 

“But you are,” Miles said. He grabbed the back of Gage’s neck and squeezed. “At least admit it — to yourself, if not me.”

“You’re the one who —” Gage was thrown off by Miles kissing him. It was a rough kiss, Miles squeezing his mouth for a moment, forcing him to pout.

“I warned you,” Miles said, his eyes dark. 

“You did,” Gage said. He laughed and shrugged out of Miles’ grip, but kept a hold of his brother’s hand. Softly, lovingly, he kissed it. He looked up at Miles through his lashes and said,“I brought you back from the brink of death, Miles. You owe me your future. Stay with me and I'll make sure you get it.” 

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Miles said, pulling down Gage’s pants and taking out his cock. Gage shuddered at the feeling of someone else’s hand there. He’d never --

Miles snorted sharply. “Fucking virgin.”

Gage opened his mouth to retort when Miles silenced him with a scowl. “No talking,” he said and then licked his thumb. He traced his thumb down Gage’s cock. Just like he’d done with the dagger, what seemed like hours ago. He was almost as careful. Almost as reverent.

It wasn’t surprising that Miles knew exactly how to make him come. His brother knew him like the back of his hand -- this just proved it. And the most confusing thing about him was that when Gage came, Miles looked at him with such tenderness that it was easy to become confused, and think it was caused by things other than a careless spell.

*

It was November and Gage was opening the front door to let Hildegard inside, when the door banged against a basket. Inside the basket was a freshly baked loaf of bread, a jar of apple butter, and a note from Anna Mitchell, their neighbor. Anna was always a sweet woman who had a good word to say about anyone. 

“What is it?” Miles called from the kitchen. “Is it a letter?” 

“No,” Gage said. “The Mitchells sent us breakfast.” He and Hildegard wandered into the kitchen. He set the basket on the table, which had been given over entirely to occult research. He and Miles were working on cracking the cipher -- Gage thought it wouldn’t take long, even if he did it by himself. But it was pleasant to have Miles involved. When he cut the bread and spread some of the apple butter on it, he passed it on to Miles. 

“Do you think Ambrosius was able to do it?” Miles asked, in between chewing his food. He tapped the spell they were poring over -- the one for eternal life. “It would explain why he ran away. If you have forever, why spend it here?” 

“I don’t think he did it,” Gage said. He took the notes Miles had been scribbling on and examined the cipher again. It was like a word that was on the tip of his tongue, if only he could remember it. “Why would he leave all of this behind if he’d succeeded?” 

“Doing a favor for his worthy descendants?” Miles said quizzically.

“We’re not his descendants, though. Remember what Great-Uncle Nathaniel said …” Gage said. He remembered the winter nights when he and Miles would gather at Nathaniel’s knee and listen to the old sea-dog’s stories, as wild and improbable as they seemed. Ambrosius was a favorite topic of Nathaniel’s -- he spoke of the long-dead man as if he knew him, and liked him. 

Miles cleared his throat. “That’s right. _Our_ ancestor was Ambrosius’ god-fearing brother, who disowned him for his -- I suppose it would be called crimes. Wasn’t he accused of being a grave-robber? A murderer? A necrophile?” 

“That was never proven,” Gage said, frowning. “But I suppose, given some of the spells in the book, he may well have relieved some people of their possessions and lives. I don’t believe the other things. ” 

“What an admirable man,” Miles muttered. “I’m glad you chose to learn so much about him, Gage, instead of -- let’s say, anything else.”

“I never said he was a charitable or a good man, just an interesting one,” Gage said. He petted Hildegard, who had hopped on top of the table. 

“Get that cat out of here,” Miles said, alarmed. He moved the inkwell away from her swishing tail. Gage rolled his eyes and left the kitchen with Hildegard and a piece of bread. He put down the cat and she followed him outside. 

The wind was fresh and invigorating; it ruffled his hair as he walked. Gage followed the path to the beach. It was an overcast day and the tide was low, but it paid to be wary. The tide could come in quickly, taking beach-goers unaware. Hildegard pawed at his trousers and he picked her up again, tucking her inside his flannel jacket. 

He was walking down the beach, his eye on the horizon, when Hildegard meowed and tried to escape from his jacket. He looked down to see if there was some jetsam that had attracted her attention, when he saw a piece of sea glass stuck into the wet sand. He picked it up and peered through it.

The watery sunshine seemed to brighten against the glass. Something clicked into place. Gage slipped the glass into his pocket and headed back to the house. The tide followed close behind him.

*

“A mirror?” Miles said scornfully. “Don’t you think I tried that? Also, why were you traipsing around the beach without a jacket?” 

“I had a jacket. Try it again,” Gage said impatiently. He’d brought down a traveling mirror from his mother’s vanity, and reflected the words of the spell against it. 

Miles squinted at it and then shook his head. “It doesn’t work.”

“Maybe it’s not the mirror...” Gage’s eyes fell upon the knife. He picked it up and then lined it up against the paper. Miles leaned in to read it and then looked at him quickly. 

“Write it down,” Gage said, handing his brother a pen and paper. Miles did it without any questions or cleverness.

*

It was deep into the night and Gage was awake, thinking of what the spell required of him and his brother. Nothing could be granted without a sacrifice, but even he hesitated. The spell was deceptively simple -- it called for three people to cast the spell and three sacrifices for them. Everything else seemed soft or negotiable -- just not the number, or the death. 

Gage tossed and turned at the revelations. He was in his room and his bed had never seemed more narrow and severe. Perhaps he had been wrong about the whole thing -- certainly, Miles seemed to think that the matter was resolved. 

“Well, we don’t have another person and we’re not committing any murders,” he said with a sigh. “It’s too bad -- I would’ve liked to live forever. Forever young -- that’s the trick of it, isn’t it? They forget to ask for that, in the myths.” 

“I want to do it,” Gage said, his voice less steady than he liked. Miles stared at him in disbelief. Gage ignored him. “I’ll find a way.” 

“This is wrong, Gage,” Miles said strongly. “You must realize that.” 

“We’re already committing dozens of wrongs!” Gage exclaimed. “We’re incestuous sinners already, so what does it matter if we do more?” 

“You can’t see the difference between fucking and taking another person’s life?” Miles pushed his hair back and sighed explosively. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“What’s wrong with me? Why don’t you ask Mother? Wait, she’s not here.” Gage laughed, disgusted at himself. “Of course it’s just fucking to you. It’s your fault it ever happened.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Miles protested, but Gage had already stormed out of the room. 

And so he was here, alone in his room. The winter wind blew through the house, rattling the windows. In his room, Miles was asleep, more likely than not. And Gage was -- not alone. 

“Sid,” he said happily. The ghost was hovering near the door and crept closer hesitatingly. “Sit here, would you?” Gage patted the spot beside him on the bed. 

Sid didn’t seem like he trusted Gage’s invitation, but he sat down as requested. He put up with Gage’s scrutiny for a long moment before he sighed and shifted, ready to disappear. Gage reached and touched his arm. 

Sid felt cold, but solid -- the touch of his skin sent a slight shock through Gage, which delighted him. “Why can I touch you?” Gage asked breathlessly. “Tell me about yourself, Sid. When were you born? Where did you grow up? How did you die?” 

“Why are you so curious about me?” Sid asked impatiently. He removed Gage’s hand from his arm. “I’m stuck in this house because of you, Gage. You were my friend and you betrayed me.”

“Ah,” Gage said thoughtfully. He’d never had a friend close enough to feel betrayed by him. He wondered what heinous thing he’d done to warrant such a haunting. “How did we meet?” 

“At school -- college. The first day. I thought you seemed nice.” Sid smiled sadly. “But lonely.” 

“That sounds like me,” Gage said. “Then what did I do?” 

“You brought me here,” Sid said, leaning closer to him. “And now I’m haunting you.” 

There was something completely earnest in the way Sid told his story, as scant in the details as it was. Gage believed him, even if the facts didn’t line up.

“Oh, yeah, I was born in Saint Paul -- Minnesota.” 

“Really!” Gage said excitedly. “You know, I’ve never been west of the Mississippi.”

“Well, Saint Paul isn’t really west of it, at least the part I grew up in,” Sid said. They looked at each other for a moment until Gage laughed. A moment later, Sid did too. Gage touched Sid’s face for a moment, curious. Sid looked at him steadily. 

“I’m going to fix what I did to you,” Gage said seriously. “I think I can do it. Just give me a little time.” 

“That’s the only thing I have,” Sid replied. He disappeared then with a twist of smoke. 

*

The rest of the winter ground on, with Miles and Gage translating the rest of the grimoire and keeping to themselves. The news from the mainland came slowly, but none of it was particularly reassuring. They would sometimes go over to the edge of their property and call out greetings to the Mitchells -- coming closer didn’t seem to be advisable, as people were dying on the streets in the mainland. 

Gage continued to seek Sid out. Once, Sid came to him in a state of almost mindless fury, trying to rip his throat out. Other times, Sid was merely sad and sweet, as if worn down by the ages. When Gage questioned him about this, Sid shrugged. 

“You wouldn’t have read Kurt Vonnegut yet. I don’t think he’s been born but -- OK, so Vonnegut wrote this character, Billy Pilgrim, who became unstuck in time. That happened to me, when you did your spell -- I can’t control where I go. I’m just here, or somewhere else in time. But I can’t leave this house. And no one can see me or talk to me except you and Miles.” 

He hesitated for a moment and shrugged. “And that ancestor of yours. Ambrosius, or whatever. Weird guy.” 

“Oh? What’s weird?” Gage asked eagerly. “Any examples?” 

Sid shot him a bleak look. “Look at the bloodstains on the pages. They’re not his.” 

“I wouldn’t do anything like that,” Gage assured him quickly. He reached out to touch Sid’s hand, but Sid slid away from him. “I care about preserving life, not taking it away.” 

At Sid’s open skepticism, Gage amended himself, “For those who matter. You. Miles, and me. We are the three. Have you heard of the rule of three? It’s common in esoteric circles --” 

Sid sighed and disappeared. 

The next time Sid appeared, it was as if they had never had that conversation. Instead, Sid made all the lamps in the house flicker and burst. Miles complained bitterly about the waste of oil -- the house was far too old to bother with electrification -- but he never seemed to perceive Sid, after the first time. 

Since their first argument, Miles seemed to have decided that the spell was another fancy of Gage’s -- one that he would indulge, like he did all of Gage’s fancies. His condescension was irritating, but as long as he helped, Gage wouldn’t hold it against him. 

Then, the spring came and along with it, Mother and Father. 


	2. fingers walk the darkness down

Gage came down the stairs, yawning. He stopped dead at the door opening and the visage of his mother stepping into the hall. She set down her traveling bag and said, in that familiar, disappointed voice, “Florence! There you are. How are you doing, my dear?” 

“I’m doing well, Mother,” Gage said, his foot hitting the base of the step. He had a strong desire to turn around and scramble up the steps, but he knew doing so would be inadvisable. “Is Father with you?” 

“Of course. You can’t imagine what trouble it was to get out of the city and how your father fussed.” 

“Well, I can imagine -- they’re letting people move about now?” 

“Of course they are, this is America,” she said. “Now, where is your brother? You can’t imagine the letters we’ve received thanks to his — carelessness. He’s lucky the war is over.”

“We all are, I suppose,” Gage said dully. She gestured to him to come and bring her luggage up. Before he did so, however, she stopped him and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re so thin and ill-looking still,” she said with a sigh. 

“I can’t help being ugly,” Gage said. 

His mother shook her head. “It’s vulgar to fish for compliments, dear.” 

Gage took her luggage upstairs, just to get away. His mother was a powerful force of nature who could neither be gainsaid nor denied. It was better to get out of her way than be crushed.

He found Miles lounging in his bedroom, smoking out the window. “Did you know they were coming?” Gage demanded, and his brother twitched the curtains closed and motioned for him.

“I thought they’d come sooner or later. Weather was uncertain enough that I thought they might delay.” Miles pulled Gage close to him, looping his arm around Gage’s neck. He pressed his forehead against Gage’s. “Just breathe.”

Gage closed his eyes for a moment. “I don’t want them to be here. It was better before.”

“Mother won’t stay long. She hates the island.”

“Still…” 

“Stay calm, Gage.”

And then they heard their mother calling for them.

*

It was an awkward family dinner, the first one they’d had together since Miles had gone off to war. Mother and Father had brought with them a new housekeeper, Mrs. Pritchard, who had struggled to make a meal for five people from the scant pantry she had been presented with. There were plans to go to the island grocery the next day. The house was fast turning back into an ordinary household.

They were all in their usual places — Father at the head of the table, Mother at the other end, Gage and Miles opposite each other. A cross section of a normal American family — or something like it.

“Miles, you haven’t received any military honors,” Father said, cutting up his meat. “I gather you never rose from the rank of private. It’s disappointing, you must agree.”

“Yes, Father,” Miles said with a thin smile. “I didn’t distinguish myself at all. I was too busy trying to stay alive, I suppose.”

“At least Miles did his duty,” Gage said. “What he saw as his duty, anyway.” 

“Overeager as always,” Mother said. “At least they had the sense not to take you.” Then, sharply, she said, “Florence, you’re slouching.”

“You ought to call him Gage, Mother. Everyone else does,” said Miles, kicking Gage under the table. Gage jerked up and straightened his posture. He had been feeling tired and run down the entire day, but without Miles’ kick, his face would have probably fallen in the soup. 

“I think he’s old enough to go by his first name,” Mother said, a small frown marring the serenity of her features. Helen Gage had been one of the chief beauties of her generation -- there were rumors that more than one young man had thrown his life away in despair when she chose to marry the rather nondescript Cornelius Westin. Both Gage and Miles resembled their mother closely.

Thoughtfully, she said,“I have always thought it was silly not to do it in the first place. Many people are named after the city in which they were conceived. Percy Shelley named his son Florence for that exact reason.” 

“Well, his name was Percy Florence. I’m not sure that’s exactly better,” Gage said, playing with his spoon. His face felt hot. “It’s just that I don’t think of myself as that, though I know that’s on my birth certificate. It might be too late for me.” 

“I don’t believe that. You can change anything if you put your mind to it. Remember that,” said Mother firmly. 

All conversation ceased for the rest of the dinner, until something pushed the grandfather clock in the hall over. It made a terrific crash -- it had been one of the oldest things in the house. In the upset that followed, Gage escaped to his room. 

*

“Who are these new people?” Sid asked as Gage was tossing and turning, trying to sleep. His body felt like it was burning, but he tried to ignore it. Gage lifted up his blanket and motioned for Sid to get inside. Sid got in, and it was like lying down next to a pole deep in winter. Gage sighed and pressed his hands to both sides of Sid’s face, studying him. 

“Why are you avoiding the question?” 

Gage blinked. “I wasn’t trying to. They’re my parents, of course.” 

Something shifted in Sid’s face. “Your parents -- they’re the ones you and Miles --” 

“You don’t need to worry about it. They won’t be here long. My mother doesn’t enjoy living on the island and my father follows wherever she leads.” 

“You told me once that you -- didn’t think they were good people, and that’s why --” Sid hesitated. Gage pressed against him eagerly. 

“What did I say? What did I do?” 

“I don’t know if I should say -- er, Gage. Are you all right?” 

“May I kiss you?” Gage said quickly. He caressed Sid’s face. His coldness seemed soothing for once, as Gage was so very hot. “You don’t need to give me hints about the future, I can guess what happens. Were we in love, before?” 

“It’s hard to say,” Sid murmured. “I thought that you liked me, but --” 

“I did something terrible to you,” Gage said. “But that doesn’t mean as much as you’d expect. You can see what I’m like with those who are supposed to love me. I wasn’t taught how to love correctly. Miles does his best, but he’s just as broken as I am. Maybe more.” 

“I don’t think _more_ is correct,” Sid replied. Gage admired his diplomacy very much and said so. 

Sid smiled and then sobered up quickly. “It’s so easy to be with you. I forget sometimes that it’s not like before, when we were friends.” 

“You’re the only person who has ever said that to me,” Gage said with a woeful smile. “Even Miles gets sick of me. He almost got married, went to war -- all so he could get away.” 

“You don’t believe that,” Sid said coolly. Gage sighed and pressed his forehead against Sid’s cold chest. He moaned. It felt so good. When he looked up, Sid was still there, eyeing him strangely. 

“Sid,” Gage said eagerly, “do you know about the rule of threes? How sometimes trios can be the most powerful form of something? I think I know why I chose you, Sid. You’re the perfect person for us, truly you are.” 

“Gage, you’re burning up,” Sid said, and Gage looked at him, puzzled. How could a ghost know that, he wondered as he lost consciousness. 

*

The fever burned through him and Gage could only remember little fragments of conversation. Miles putting a hand on his forehead. His mother’s gasp. Her voice -- “Miles, you shouldn’t touch him. Wait for the doctor.” 

“I’ve already had it,” Miles said. “Getting a doctor out here from the mainland could take days.” 

“He’s always been weak, since he was young,” his father lamented. “We might bring the doctor over for nothing.” 

Gage opened his eyes and grasped Miles’ hand. His mouth was too dry to speak but he tried to convey his meaning as strongly as he could. _Don’t let me die, Miles, don’t let me die_. His brother squeezed his hand and called for water.

*

Gage was sitting with Sid on the beach. They were talking about something or other — Gage forgot the words as soon as he spoke them. They didn’t matter. They watched the surf rise quickly up to where they were sitting on the rocks and felt the water tickle the bottom of their feet. They were in no danger, after all. This was just a dream. 

Thoughtfully, Sid said, “When we first met, I thought you must’ve liked me because I was different from what you were used to.”

“You are,” Gage assured him as the water rose to their ankles. “And you will be, I’m sure.”

Sid tilted his head and looked at him. “I wonder which of us actually met the other first?”

“It’s a mess anyway,” Gage said as the water came quicker and quicker, until they were both swept away.

Gage woke up to the interplay of light against the whitewash of the ceiling. It looked almost like flames. His throat hurt terribly, but he otherwise felt calm. He wondered vaguely where everyone was. Had they abandoned him to his fate? 

No. Miles wouldn’t do that to him. And Sid — he couldn’t do anything for him, but he wouldn’t leave. Surely not. 

Hildegard was sleeping on his bed. Gage reached out to pet her when his hand went through her. Her whiskers twitched. He was still dreaming. 

*

Miles was feeding him some kind of disagreeable porridge. It slid down Gage’s throat like a thick paste. He pushed away the spoon with a sigh of disgust. 

“You have to eat,” Miles said, frowning. “Don’t act like a child, Gage.” 

“I’ll do it if you promise to do the spell with me,” Gage said and smiled. 

“Being this happy to commit murder -- that’s -- not a good thing,” Miles said. “But I suppose I’ll have to do it, sooner or later.” 

“Thank you,” Gage said, lying back in bed. “But I’m not really hungry.” 

“And yet you’re going to sit here and eat this gruel and recover, so you can make your pact with the devil in the best health. Are you listening?”

“Yes, Miles.” Gage opened his mouth and Miles deposited another spoonful of gruel into it.

*

They were in the woods, ostensibly hunting rabbits. At least, Miles was, while Gage leaned against a low stone wall. Nearby was the ruin of an old cabin, which straddled the property line between their land and the Mitchells. Gage was absorbed in a book, but he looked up when he heard Miles approach. His brother aimed the shotgun at him. “Bang-bang,” Miles said and Gage slumped against the mossy wall. 

“Do you want to have something now?” Miles said, standing over him. Gage cracked open his eyes and asked if he’d gotten anything. Miles shook his head and helped him up. They left Miles’ shotgun leaning against the wall and broke their fast. 

They lunched on brown bread and butter, pickles, cold veal and cookies. Gage was thoughtful, and when they were about finished, he asked his brother, “Why don’t you talk about the war? I want to know more about what happened to you.” 

“First time you’ve asked,” Miles said mildly. “Maybe I was waiting for your questions.” 

“Did you kill anyone? When you felt that you perhaps didn’t have to?” 

“Of course.” Miles shook his head. “In the moment, you don’t know if you have to or not. So you do it and survive.” He stood up and dusted himself. “I don’t think I want to talk about it after all.” 

“It’s that bad?” 

“You don’t need to imagine how bad it was,” Miles said coldly. “It’s over now. Do you want to finish up hunting?” 

“I never wanted to start. I just -- needed to leave the house.” Gage allowed himself a moment of sadness for his home, which had turned so quickly from a place of refuge to a prison. His parents were determined to ruin everything. 

He would go back to university in the fall, but what about Miles? He was sure they would pressure him to look for another suitable heiress. 

Miles caressed his cheek. “Poor Gage. Set upon by all sides.” 

“Do you like all this pressure on you?” Gage asked earnestly. He took Miles’ hand and threaded their fingers together. He gave Miles a small, secret smile, which made his brother laugh and shake his head. 

“You’re impossible,” Miles said and kissed him. There was no hesitation there, or worry about endangering Gage’s immortal soul. Miles had obviously decided that Gage’s soul had already been lost -- and so had his. Gage was quite happy with this development. He took the blanket from the ground and took Miles into the old cabin. 

The ruin was just stone walls and a fireplace, with the roof open to the sky. Gage spread out the blanket in front of what had been the hearthstone; he stowed his glasses on the mantel and sat down. He began to unbutton his trousers. He looked up and saw Miles staring at him. 

“Is it that easy for you?” Miles asked him. 

Gage scoffed and pulled him closer. Unbuttoned his trousers and took out his cock. He kept his eyes on Miles’ face as he sucked him off. He felt Miles’ hand on his head, gentle at first, and then stronger. It forced him to take Miles’ cock in deeper, as he gasped around it. When Miles loosened his hold, Gage pulled away and smirked at him. He pulled Miles down to him and kissed him. 

It was such a pleasure to touch and be touched, but the pleasure changed easily to a frenzy. Their clothes were thrown to the side. Naked skin pressed against naked skin. Gage whimpered when Miles pushed him down and dipped his head down to his cock. Miles had told him something of his wartime experiences -- seeking to shock him, more than anything else. Giving pleasure to Corporal Love was one of the names for it, playing with the joystick was another. It was mostly absurd, but they did make Gage laugh -- which seemed to please Miles. 

Gage gasped and came in Miles’ mouth. Miles pulled a face and spat out the come on the wrecked fireplace. 

“Do you want to fuck me,” Gage said, feeling oddly shy. “I won’t mind if you don’t --” 

“Shut up, Gage,” Miles said. He hoisted Gage’s legs over his shoulders and bent his head down. When Gage felt Miles’ tongue licking downward, he gasped. When Miles pressed his tongue against Gage’s hole, it felt so intense Gage cried out and clutched at the blanket. He felt himself let go and relax. When Miles came up again, his cock hard against Gage’s ass, Gage pressed his thighs around him. 

Miles fingered his hole and they looked at each other intensely. Gage bit his lip and muttered, “Hurry up. We need to be back soon.”

“You’ll regret it if I do,” Miles said. Gage pinched his side but Miles couldn’t be goaded. He took his time, preparing him, to the point Gage started to doubt it would ever happen. Miles would chide him for his impatience at any other time, but now he only gave him a wry smile and kept at it. 

Gage settled down, his heart tight against his chest. He loved Miles in every way possible. It would be a pain to admit, but he was lucky that his brother already knew it, accepted and loved him back so completely. It felt so strange to be so cherished, and time would be no object for them -- soon. 

When Miles did finally push in, it came as almost a shock. Gage’s mind had wandered to a sentimental dreamland. But then he was pushed back into the immediacy of physical contact, of Miles’ body against his. They were connected in so many ways. 

Gage wasn’t usually one to make much noise, but he did so now. They both did, whispering words of adoration that would be impossible to say at any other moment. Gage thought Miles’ quiet _I love you_ would always echo in his head. 

It was so easy to get carried away. He loved it, he wanted it, he had to have it. Miles so close to him, claiming him. It felt like their whole lives had led to this.

It was a perfect moment. 

Then Gage stretched out and turned his head for a moment, towards the door of the cabin. In the green light of the afternoon in the deep woods, he saw the black and red of a checkered shirt and a pale face, slack in disbelief. John Mitchell was standing there and their eyes met. Gage felt his blood freeze in his body. He wanted to scream. 

Miles was still in him, and John Mitchell knew. 

And then he was just as suddenly gone. 

“Miles,” Gage said. He tugged his brother’s arm. Miles thrust inside him and moaned. “Miles! Stop. He saw us.” He pushed Miles away. Miles blinked, trying to understand what was happening.

“What are you talking about? I haven’t come yet,” Miles said irritably. Gage wanted to shake him. Instead he grabbed Miles’ face.

“Listen to me. John Mitchell was here. He saw us. You have to go to his house and tell him…”

“Tell him what?” Miles said, getting up. He was still hard. Gage couldn’t stop staring at his erection but there was nothing he could do about it now. Miles laughed, a harsh, bitter sound in the ruins. He took a swallow of water from his canteen and spat it out again. His hands were steady when he offered Gage a peppermint pastille. 

Gage stared at him in disbelief. “Why are you so calm? If he told anyone, it would ruin us.” 

“And how could I stop that? He knows our secret, he holds all the power. Gage, I told you --” 

“Nevermind that, it’s already done. Make a deal with him.” Gage sneered. “He already liked you. It was probably his dream to see you like this.” 

“And they say I’m the bad one,” Miles said with an ironic shrug. He finished dressing and looked at Gage, who was shivering and still quite naked. “Cover yourself, at least.” 

“Are you going to do it?” 

“Yes, Gage, I’m going to whore myself out for you. Although it’s not likely to work.” 

“We don’t have another choice,” Gage said, pulling on his own clothes. Everything was covered in leaves and bits of dirt. Miles shook his head and pulled his jacket over Gage’s head.

Before Miles left, Gage pulled him back and kissed him hard. “I love you the best. You have to understand that -- don’t you? That’s why I’m going to do what I have to do.”

“Gage…” Miles said, biting his lip. “Listen, the last ferry to the mainland leaves at six. We could go now and be in Boston by tomorrow. Ambrosius didn’t have to stay and neither do we.” 

“We are going to leave. But with everything we could want.”

Miles kissed his forehead. “You’re so frightening, little brother.” Then he left, taking his shotgun with him. 

Gage took his time and walked home. He could hear the voices of his parents in the kitchen. It was Mrs. Pritchard’s day off and so they had to shift for themselves. With quiet steps, he went upstairs and took the spell box to Miles’ room. The mirror stood where it always did. Lillian watched him from her painted frame. Gage closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. 

From below, he could hear the sound of knocking, and then John Mitchell’s voice. Gage flipped through the pages of the grimoire and began to cast a summoning spell — this time, it was for both Miles and Sid. 

It was difficult -- he’d left his glasses in the woods, somewhere in the old cabin. 

There was shouting from below. It was distracting — the knife in Gage’s hand shook. He knew as the words crossed his lips that he had made some mistake in the spell. The shouting downstairs was getting louder and louder. It was demonic. He couldn’t stand it. 

Outside, he saw a shape come out of the woods and resolve itself into Miles, running toward the house. He took in the sight of John Mitchell’s horse, tethered to the post, and began to climb the trellis to Gage’s room.

Gage turned back to the preparations at hand. He drew a chalk circle on the ground. He lit the oil lamp. He had his knife and his book. He waited. 

Sid appeared for a moment, looking disorientated. He took in the scene and said, “Gage, I can’t believe you’re a fucking witch. On top of everything else.” 

Gage wasn’t sure why this was a new observation. He preferred the term warlock. He cut into his arm and let the blood drip on to the pages. 

“That’s disgusting, you know,” Sid said. “Really unsanitary.”

“Hush,” Gage muttered. “Just wait.”

But Sid was gone again.

The door opened with a crash. Miles had returned, not a moment too soon. Gage’s words of annoyance meant nothing. A moment later, Sid appeared at his side. He looked — despairing. “Gage, you can still stop it. It’s in your power.”

“There you are. I was wondering where you went to. Come inside the circle,” Gage said. “I will fix the mess I made.” 

“I could refuse. You just need a third person, don’t you? It doesn’t matter who it is.”

“Of course it matters. It’s always mattered, Sid. Please.” Gage held out his hand and after a moment of hesitation, Sid took it and stepped into the circle. Miles stepped inside the circle without any persuasion at all. 

Everyone was in their places. It had all been meant to be. 

The lantern crashed to the ground by the force of an unseen hand. Everything began to burn. Everything and everyone, except those within the circle.

Everything was as it should be. Gage was perfectly happy — he didn’t care about anything outside his little circle.

*

The fire hadn’t destroyed the house entirely. It had eaten through the floor and spread through the rooms below. Gage and Miles climbed out of the window and scaled the walls of the house. It was a mistake, Gage thought later, to look inside and see into the parlor, where his parents had been speaking with John Mitchell. The bodies were hardly recognizable as human.

Gage’s attention was caught by yowling in the clematis vines. He pulled out a smoke-streaked Hildegard and cried out in relief. He would have truly felt guilt if something had happened to her.

Slowly, the smoke attracted the attention of neighbors and they came, including Anna Mitchell, her face pinched with worry. She came up to Miles and asked what had happened. Miles lied smoothly, saying that he and Gage had been hunting when the fire had broken out. 

“But you came to me in such a hurry this afternoon,” she said, twisting her hands. “Looking for John. You went hunting after that?” 

“No,” Gage said, stepping in. “That was my fault. I wanted Mitch to come hunting with us and asked Miles to fetch him. But when we left the woods, we saw the fire…” 

It was easy enough to lie to Anna Mitchell and the rest. No one could imagine what had actually taken place. They stayed at the only inn on the island, and soon afterwards, left for the mainland. 

Before he went, Gage went back to the house and called for Sid. There was no answer. For the first time in his life, Gage thought the house was truly empty. Whatever the spell had done, it had released Sid -- for now. 

As soon as it was clear that John Mitchell had met his end along with half of the Westin family, both Miles and Gage offered the widow Anna an annuity for the rest of her life. Understandably, she was too grieved to ask many questions about it -- she thanked them for their charity, but with some trace of suspicion in her voice. 

But nothing could be proven. It was all a tragic accident, a calamity between neighbors. 

*

Miles had grown cold after the fire. He said that he would go West, to California -- alone. He wanted a fresh start among the orange trees and sunshine. He wanted to forget. 

“Forget everything? Forget me?” Gage asked, his voice brittle and ashamed at his own weakness. 

“It’s not possible to forget you, Gage,” Miles said, as they stood on the ferry that took them farther and farther from the island. “But you have to admit --” 

“We agreed to it,” Gage said quietly. “I did it for you as well as me.” 

“So you say.” Miles gave him a sideways look. “We’ll meet here again in a decade. See if that spell of yours worked.” 

Gage shook his head. He knew it had worked. He felt a new strength running through his body, a strange and heady feeling. He had never felt this before. “If you want. This date, in ten years.” 

*

In ten years, they were the same. The house had been restored — another family lived there now. In twenty, Gage said lightly that he might finally get a chance to fight in a war. “Don’t bother,” Miles told him. “Guys in glasses eat it first.” 

In thirty years, most of the families on the island had moved away. It became a ghost of a place. They agreed they would meet elsewhere from then on.

In forty years, they met in California, where Miles had gotten caught up in some rocket sex-cult. “Do you know what hell it is to step out of every camera shot?” Miles said with a dramatic sigh. He was sleek and beautiful -- the sunshine agreed with him. 

Gage smiled. “It’s going to be harder and harder for you to avoid it.”

In 1969, Miles was finally married to an heiress and impressed his father-in-law by taking their name. By 1989, he was masquerading as that man’s son. He was making the most of his long, long life. 

In 1999, they quarreled over something that didn’t matter -- Gage couldn’t really remember the trigger for it, but the true reason was that they were sick of each other. Miles left and they didn’t talk to each other for twenty years. As a parting shot, he told Gage that he was wasting his immortality. 

It was perfectly true. 

The world changed so quickly that it became harder and harder to know what to do. Gage always felt out of time and out of touch. The years slipped by without him noticing. He only needed to pay attention when it came time to see Miles again -- and he had lost that too. 

He lived in places where he wouldn’t be noticed. College campuses were nice — the constant migration of students meant that no one remembered him much. Anonymity suited him. He could slip into any special collection or library he wished for, through the use of simple human forgetfulness and charm. His eyes would stray across the diligent faces of the students. He was always looking for a particular face. 

He was looking for Sid. 

He didn’t find him. Perhaps, he thought, that was for the best. It would be best if they never met, if Gage didn’t lead Sid to that strange and frightening place that was Gage’s past and Sid’s future.

He tried to understand what had gone wrong with the spell. Wracked his brains about it for years. Went to the house in Providence, only to find it had been bulldozed a dozen years ago to make apartments. He listened to some of the residents complain about the ghosts or whatever that haunted that place. He didn’t bother correcting them -- the spirits that dwelled in the place had never been human. 

For the first time in his life, Gage decided to be of use. He recited the spell to exorcise the spirits trapped in the building. 

It worked. The building also burned down.

So, looking for a new home, Gage found Sid again.

Gage had never been a demonstrative person -- at least, for people who weren’t his brother. But for Sid, it was different. Meeting him in person was like nothing else. Sid was sweet and clever and kind. He accepted Gage’s eccentricities easily enough. They saw each other enough to leave a good impression and not much else. Gage scrupulously kept his distance, until it was time. How could he have doubted the timing? A hundred years had passed and the stage was set, the spell was ready.

But still. It was so hard to pretend that he didn’t know what would happen. Hard, impossible. All of it. He was guilty of wrecking so many things, but it was only Sid he felt guilty for. And still, that was not enough. If given a choice, Gage would have done the whole thing again.

Though this time, he would make sure all the spells were cast correctly. He wouldn’t make another mistake. 

*

Gage didn’t go to the kitchen as he left the bedroom, leaving Sid unsubstantial and angry. 

“Gage, what are you planning to do?” Miles asked sharply. He had followed him down the hall, apparently ready to have it out with him at last. Gage turned to him and smiled. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been so rough with you lately,” he said, reaching for his brother’s hand. Miles didn’t take it, only staring at him. “Can you forgive me?” 

“Am I the person who should forgive you?” Miles asked bitterly. Gage came closer to him and touched his face. His brother’s face felt cold to the touch. 

“Putting someone ahead of yourself? Miles, you really have grown.” 

“Don’t pull that shit with me. You know I’ve always --” 

“Put me ahead. I know.” Gage kissed him briefly. “Do you regret protecting me for all those years, knowing what you know now? Wouldn’t it have been better if you had let me go?” 

“If I had done that, I would be dead long ago.” 

Gage nodded. “I’m going to ask for one last thing from you, Miles.” He paused. “So, Sid should be ready now.” 

*

Sid was everywhere in the house and everywhen. A ghost wasn’t bound by linear time, after all. He didn’t have to go forward like everyone else did, or, if he wasn’t bound to any past trauma, stay in the past. Gage waited for Sid to come back to the present moment. 

And when he did, Gage presented him with the thing that he’d been saving for all this time. The silver dagger, honed bright and sharp. He put it into Sid’s cold hand and wrapped his fingers around it, along with a piece of paper. 

“It’s simple, stab me and recite these words. That’s all you have to do -- I’m ready.” 

“I’m not going to do that,” Sid said evenly. He took the dagger and examined it closely, the shadows making strange shapes on his face. 

Gage smiled at him fondly. “Why not? I haven’t done anything but trick or harm you, Sid. Your course is clear.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Miles said sharply. “I don’t believe anything would change except you wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore.” 

Gage shrugged. “Don’t be so vulgar. You won’t know unless you try, anyway. Sid?” 

“If I kill you, would Miles die too? You’re all wrapped up in each other -- that spell I saw --” 

“It’s possible. We won’t know unless you do it,” Gage said cheerfully. He unbuttoned his shirt and flaunted his white, unmarked chest to Sid. “Come on, you’ve been through everything else. Why not this?” 

Sid stepped quickly to him and pressed the dagger against Gage’s heart. A moment passed. Then another. Sid’s eyes met Gage’s. 

“Find another way,” he said, letting the knife drop away from Gage’s skin. 

*

“We could try fucking again,” Miles suggested, as he lay on his side, twisting a lock of Gage’s hair around his fingers. “Or burning down the house? What other stupid thing haven’t we tried? Raise Ambrosius from the dead and ask for his advice?” 

“Ambrosius?” Sid said questioningly. 

“Our ancestor. An asshole. Responsible for this whole thing.” 

“I know who he is. It’s just that you don’t need to raise the dead for him,” Sid replied. Both Gage and Miles stared at him. Sid shrugged. “I’m not bound by time, remember. Just space. I saw what he did.” 

Gage sat up. “Jesus fuck.” 

Miles looked at him disbelievingly. “Oh, it’s not vulgar when _you_ swear.” 

“Can you talk to him, Sid?” Gage asked earnestly. He touched Sid’s knee. “Talk to him. Or make him come here and talk to us.” 

“I don’t know if he would --” Sid admitted. “Miles is kind of right. He is an asshole.” 

“We don’t have a choice,” Gage said strongly. Downstairs, the doorbell rang. They all looked at each other. 

“I suppose I … already did it?” Sid said weakly. “Time is weird.” 

*

“Feckless youths!” Ambrosius declared when Miles opened the door. He looked remarkably well for being three hundred and fifty-four, though he was also very short and as proud as a cockerel. “Carelessly reciting spells, thinking nothing of the sacrifice each of them requires, becoming murderers and thieves! I would be ashamed of you — but I suppose family’s family.” 

He waved a new page for the grimoire in front of Gage’s face. In careful script, it was titled: “On Embodying Spirits.”

It was written in English, as Ambrosius clearly had no faith in them. He yanked it away before Gage could touch it. “For a price, of course.” 

“I told you,” Sid said tonelessly. 

“Of course he’s related to us,” Miles said with a sigh. 

“I’ll pay,” Gage said. Ambrosius whispered in his ear what he wanted from Gage. It was a simple exchange and made perfect sense -- but as Gage looked at Miles and Sid’s expectant faces, he felt a certain amount of loss. He would miss them, even if Ambrosius only asked for twenty years. Truly, an apprenticeship would benefit him. 

It shouldn’t matter for people like them -- twenty years was nothing -- but Gage had thought they were finally together for good. But still, he nodded and shook Ambrosius’ hand -- which was dry and brittle, the only thing about him that was strangely aged -- and said he would do it. 

He would explain it all to Miles and Sid -- later. 

*

The spell worked. Sid ran out of the house as soon as it took effect and howled at the moon. Gage had doubts that he would come back, but he did. He came running back and socked Gage in the jaw. 

Gage went down like a domino. Holding his face, he said, “All right, all right. I deserve that.” 

“ _Deserve_ that? You deserve a lot more than that,” Sid said, biting off his words. “You fucking bastard, you betrayed me. Used me. I was a fucking _ghost!_ All for what? Some reason you pulled out of your ass. You pretended to be my friend for _years_ , knowing what would happen to me.” 

“I didn’t pretend anything,” Gage said, raising his voice. “It’s not like you told me what had happened before --” 

“Fuck you.” Sid covered his face with his hands. It would have been a gesture of despair, but Gage saw him becoming more used to the feeling of his own skin, his own body. Sid shuddered and fell to his knees. Gasping, he said, “Everything’s _heavy._ ” 

“Sid,” Gage said, reaching for him. Sid slapped his hand away. He looked delighted at the impact, the redness forming on Gage’s skin. They both looked at it. “You don’t feel cold anymore, do you?” 

“No,” Sid answered. He tugged at his collar. He looked flushed, panting. “It’s hot. I’m hot. I’m thirsty and hungry -- I just. Can’t describe it.” 

“You’re magnificently alive,” Gage said. “I remember that -- it must be more intense for you, being cut loose for so long.” 

Sid’s eyes met his. “I can’t forgive you. I’m not Miles, I can’t be that for you.” 

“I know,” Gage said slowly. “I don’t want that from you either.” 

“Hey!” Miles said from the door, the light of the hallway spilling out behind him, illuminating his hair. “Do you want to eat something or not? Dear _Uncle_ Ambrosius is absolutely ravenous.” 

“Yes,” Sid said. “I want --” He turned back to Gage and offered him his hand. Gage took it and scrambled up. “I want everything.” 

Gage beamed at him. He knew well enough he didn’t deserve this -- any of it -- but he was glad to have it, at least for now. Together they went up the steps to the porch. Miles closed the door behind them. They were home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter titles from Townes Van Zandt 
> 
> \- Jacques Roulet and the shady house in Providence is taken from H.P. Lovecraft’s [The Shunned House](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Shunned_House). In the scale of horrific Lovecraftian racism, it’s on the _prejudiced against French warlocks_ level. 
> 
> \- [An abandoned island in Maine](https://www.onlyinyourstate.com/maine/abandoned-swan-island-me/). Who wants go with me and live there?
> 
> \- Miles and Gage’s picnic lunch is based on [this](http://www.foodtimeline.org/fooddecades.html). 
> 
> \- There are literally two men named Florence listed on Wikipedia. Nonetheless, I persisted. 
> 
> \- [Rocket sex-cult!](https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/8qqqkx/hunting-the-hell-portal-where-the-founder-of-nasa-s-jpl-divined-cosmic-rockets-with-l-ron)
> 
> \- [The Halifax Explosion of 1917](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halifax_Explosion). Truly wild times.
> 
>  **1918 Pandemic stories:** [a chilling account of someone living through it and the imprint the pandemic had on the rest of her life](https://www.cdc.gov/publications/panflu/stories/survived_shinnick.html), [in New England](https://www.newenglandhistoricalsociety.com/the-1918-flu-epidemic-kills-thousands-in-new-england/) (especially Camp Devens, one of the main disease centers), and [in Providence](https://library.brown.edu/create/browninthegreatwar/stories/influenza-quarantine/), and [Maine](https://www.maine.gov/dhhs/mecdc/documents/1918-pandemic-flu.pdf?fbclid=IwAR1AqviEnld5CyI5oi1NQ_Vo5VnlAhEOQX-7EA19l9ykSGahb8P37AlUV4o) \-- really chilling timeline of events. 
> 
> Having said that (and dumping this information to you), I must say that I find these stories oddly comforting in times like this. Someone’s got to stick around and learn from history. 
> 
> \- And of course, the good old [timeline of sexual terms](http://timeglider.com/timeline/194b572e19fd461b). WWI wasn’t that wild, in dick terms, but I did my best.


End file.
